Retaliation
by sallonesque
Summary: [AlexanderHephaestion; HephaestionBagoas; AlexanderBagoas ] Rating for slash. Hephaestion is bitter over Alexander's marriage to Roxane. Thoughtless revenge from both parties ensues.
1. Different Is Not Equal

Disclaimer: Alexander the Great, his lover Hephaestion, and his eunuch Bagoas were all real people. I am using the versions of them portrayed in Oliver Stone's film Alexander. I do not own Alexander or any of the characters blah blah blah..

Notes: Yes, these were real people. If you didn't already know: Bagoas was Alexander's eunuch, given to him as a peace-gift from the Persian officials after the battle of Guagamela (or thereabouts timewise). If you're going by the fim version, he is the extremely pretty dancer boy with the black hair thatAlexander kisses.

Also: there is a lot of disagreement about the spelling of Hephaestion's name. The way I choose to spell it will probably vary, but I promise I'll try to be consistant. But please don't complain to me if I don't spell it the same way you do/think it should be spelled.

This may or may not be more than one chapter long, I'm not sure. It depends on whether or not there's interest or whatever. So uh.. kindly read and review.

* * *

I'm not sure why I did it. It's funny how one questions their motives after the damage has been done. As I watch Bagoas leave my bed, I am struck by an undeniable remorse. I feel bad for having put him in such a predicament as he now faces because he is a good boy. No— not boy. He is a man. Just as I, just as Alexander. The more I think on it, the more I am certain that it was out of spite. Not just against Alexander himself but against the campaign that has stolen him from me. Against the woman that has stolen him from me. 

Roxane hates me. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. I am not bothered by it though. The feeling is very much mutual. But it is not her that I hate. It is her attachment to my Alexander. It is the same reason I had quarrels with Olympias. All over possession of a man that none of us could tame.

When I recover from my thoughts, Bagoas is standing before me. I look up at him, his pretty face and his soft, dark hair. He is so different from my Alexander. Opposite in every way. Where Bagoas is Selene, the moon, and all the stars, Alexander is Apollo with his fiery chariot in the sky. Alexander is know by all and dominates his surroundings while Bagoas remains an enigma to all.

All but me.

I imagine he was more of a listener than a speaker to Alexander, but it was I who was there to listen to them both, though my conversations with Bagoas were few and far between.

"Hephaestion—"

He sits beside me and begins to speak. I place my finger over his lips to quiet him and then my mouth. He makes no sound and does not protest, but I have had my fill of him. The guilt of what I have done makes me feel ill and so I ask him to leave.

He does as he is asked. In a manner of seconds, his robe is on and he is gone from my chamber entirely.

I will sorely regret this and I am fully aware of it. Not only am I afraid that Alexander will be angry when news on my dalliance with his eunuch, I am more afraid of what his jealousy will drive him to.

What is a man to do when two men that he loves dearly commit adultery? And worse—with each other! My spiteful act will have served no purpose, as it will only rouse another counter-attack from him. I fear that if it continues, the rest of our lives will be spent avenging our broken hearts— which were the fault of not each other, but ourselves in the first place.

I shall not tell Alexander and I will hope that Bagoas will keep his silence as well.


	2. The Dance

Disclaimer: I still don't own them, I'm afraid.

Notes: Love forever to Ilium. Your review warmed my heart, my dear. Thanks so much.

Reviews are greatly GREATLY appreciated and will receive my undying love and first-born child.

IIIII

There are many days when I should like to take hold of and rip out every last strand of fine dark hair from his pretty head.

Those are the days that Alexander and I have quarreled. And he knows it. And he revels in it. And I hate him for it.

But then there are the other days. When both of us are neutral and both of us are content and secure in our standing with Alexander.

Those are the days when I should like nothing more than to hold him. And he knows it. And he uses it against me. And I hate him for it.

But I cannot hold it against him. No matter how much I would like to.

We are not so different, Bagoas and I. In fact, we are very much the same. The thing is: our differences are so vastly different that we cannot be compared on very many levels at all.

Today is one of the days when I would like to strangle him with the pretty silk sash he is wearing. All day he has been following Alexander about. Chasing after him and practically openly begging for attention. I thought a eunuch's place was to wait at the foot of their master, come when they are called or otherwise disappear. Apparently it is not so.

Alexander ignored me through the day and worst of all, saw it fit to throw a party tonight. I hate Alexander's parties worst of all. I hate seeing Alexander drunk. He is so very much like Philip when he is drunk. If he knew what he was like under alcohol's influence, I doubt very much that he would drunk so much as he does.

But more than seeing Alexander drunk and more than seeing the soldiers stuffing themselves on the food, wine and sex these gatherings offer, I utterly loathe seeing Bagoas dance.

Watching Alexander watching him. Watching the soldiers watching him. Watching him watching me and loving the knowledge of my powerlessness to stop them all.

And yet I would not deny him it. It is his only moment to truly do something of use outside of Alexander's bed.

Outside of mine.

IIIII

The large crowd laughed and swayed as the music began. Cups of wine clanked together, mouths caught one another in drunken kisses, the arms of Alexander's men were linked about one another as they carried on happily.

From the back of the crowd, a lanky figure emerged. If not for his bare chest that did not have the breasts of a woman, he could have very easily been a woman. His dark eyes were alight as though he alone held the secrets of the entire world and only by looking into those eyes would one be able to find out what they were.

His body moved fluidly to the music, possessing an almost lyrical quality. He danced mostly near his King. And Alexander watched him hungrily.

This was the Bagoas that aspired to be at times. It was when he was in this perfect state of harmony, when he was dancing, that I knew what it was about him that captivated my Alexander so.

But moreover it captivated me.

I had earlier discussed with Alexander the delicate subject of his marriage to Roxane. I compared her, in passing, to Olympias and Alexander grew sore with me.

I now knew the reason for this night's festivities. It was a form of revenge.

I watched Bagoas dance closer and closer until the song ended. He was on the ground before Alexander. Every man present was thrown harshly back into reality and the reality was that even if they did not prefer the sexual company of men, they could not help being drawn in by his dance.

If the siren had a male counterpart, I imagine that it would be the eunuch; a eunuch that could lure a man to his very death, not by song, but with dance.

I found myself lost in my thoughts again and when I looked up, it was directly at Alexander who held my gaze.

Everyone in the circle was chanting for Alexander to kiss Bagoas.

He would not. He could not possibly.

With a glance to Bagoas as he pulled him into his arms, Alexander looked back up at me and proceeded to kiss the eunuch full on the mouth.

I turned away and to my goblet of wine. Still full.

Within a few moments, it was empty. Thrice.

I got the distinct impression that my bed would be cold tonight.


	3. Of Unnecessary Apologies

Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Too bad for me.

Notes: Rothalion, don't hate me for.. erm.. 'borrowing' Hephaestion's pet name. I saw it in The Punch Temp (omgsogreat!) and I had to use it. It's too perfect and so right. So thanks for that.

Thanks so very much to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. I'm doing my best to overcome my laziness to continue this story just especially for those of you who liked it. It will be abandoned inevitably just like everything I start, but your harping has postponed its hiatus. So please continue to review.

Also! All of you Alexander fandom writers: your stuff is all so good! I'm proud to be lumped into a fandom with so many talented authors.

Anyway. Enough of my babble. Onto to goods.

* * *

I start to leave the room just as quickly as I entered, but your hand on my shoulder stops me.

"What is it?" It is more a demand than a question. You whisper in my ear. I flinch.

"Please do not be angry."

"Who is angry? I am not angry." I am not entirely lying.

Your voice is pleading. "Phae, please?"

I sigh and face you. You are nearing tears, I can tell. With a deep breath I scan you and the scene behind you. Your right hand is holding closed the bedcovers that are barely covering you below the waist. Behind you, a debauched looking and smug Bagoas is stretched languidly, nay, triumphantly across your bed.

"Did you assume_ I_ would forget that you sent for me tonight simply because _you _did?"

"I…"

"It's quite alright. I understand how distracting he can be. Obviously he can be extremely distracting as I have not set foot in this room for nearly three weeks. But between a wife and whore who has time for a best friend. Am I correct, Alexander?"

I hate how bitter I sound. It makes Roxane's hatred of me seem validated.

I've wounded you. I am instantly sorry, but when I open my mouth to apologize, you have already beaten me to it.

"Yes, I suppose you are correct. I am sorry, Hephaestion. I should have been more attentive to you."

Without looking away from me, your voice addresses your eunuch.

"Bagoas. Please leave us."

With a slight pout and a glare to me behind your back, he throws on a delicate and pretty robe and disappears.

I suddenly feel like a fool. I avoid your eyes.

"I did not mean for you to send him away."

"Yes you did." But you don't sound accusing. You even smile.

I smile too and hang my head. "Yes I did."

"I apologize for my negligence, Hephaestion."

"And I for my jealousy."

But we both know that the apologies were unnecessary because we reach for each other at the same moment and, for now, all is forgiven.


	4. The Upper Hand

Disclaimer: Omg! Guess what? They're all mine! ... Except not.

Notes: Wow. Okay. So this has been on a ten million year hiatus. I was just reading through it and cringing at all the terrible errors (in grammar and otherwise).. but I also went through the reviews as well and noticed that I had people threatening to hunt me down and stab me with sporks and the like if I put this on hiatus or just let it dwindle into oblivion, as so many of my fics seem to do.

But don't fret, dears! Here is another chapter!

I hope you enjoy it and if you do, send your Mistress warm fuzzies via a nice review. Feel free to yell at me for putting it on hiatus like I said I would probably do. Haha.

* * *

I leave Alexander's bed, watching the shadow lurking in the corner.

I know he's there. I know he's been watching. Waiting. Calculating the right time to move.

For someone so uneducated, he is well versed in the art of human instinct.

I don't care. Let him be there. Let him watch.

I give him a smile as I exit my Alexander's chambers. He is well aware of what this smile means. I can see that in the instant and almost insane jealousy that flickers over his pretty features.

I know I have won.

This game, at least.

I linger outside the door for a moment and I can hear Alexander calling him forth from the shadows. To his bed that has not yet cooled.

I wonder vaguely if nothing can sate his lust, but the thought does not haunt me long. I have still won.

He is still mine.

I can see the devotion to his King in Bagoas's eyes when he looks at Alexander.

I know that look well because I know it is the look that Alexander sees when he looks at me.

I know that look well because it is the look I see mirrored in his eyes.

I almost pity the poor eunuch. He will never know that look. He is a mere object to Alexander. A plaything to pass the time.

As he is to me.

He is an object of lust. Of pure physical attatchement. Of perhaps even comfort.

Of revenge.

I know that Alexander knows.

I can see it in his beautiful eyes each time we are together and Bagoas is near. That brief flash of jealousy that turns the moment icy. The look of annoyance and anger that makes him, at time, turn me away.

After moments like those, his touch burns an icy print on my body.

On my heart.

He is too noble to accuse me of such a thing and too proud to accuse the eunuch. But I know that he knows; and has probably known for a long while.

I have never understood why he allows his pride to occupy him so. It consumes him when he does not keep a watchful eye on it. As with his jealous and anger.

As with his lust.

There is no middle ground with Alexander.

Things are or they are not. Either I love him wholly or not at all.

His stubborn nature is causing a rift between us, but I manage to bridge the gap each time.

I alone possess that power and the power to use it.

Even if Bagoas could, he would not be able to exercise this talent.

This is what makes me realize that in all the wicked games that we are playing it is I, and not my King, that has the upper hand.


End file.
